On the far end of the city stood the grand prison of Levan, a fortress of steel and stone that loomed like a shadow over the skyline. Its walls were high, crowned with razor wire, and its watchtowers glared down with cold, unblinking eyes. Inside, the yard buzzed with noise, metal clanging against metal, guards' boots echoing on the concrete, and, louder still, the roar of inmates.
"Get him!" someone shouted from the back.
"Break his ribs!" another voice added, wild with bloodlust.
The fight in the center of the yard was brutal and fast. A fist cracked across a jaw, and blood sprayed from a man's busted lip, glinting against his teeth before dripping onto the dirt. The other fighter moved like a shadow unpredictable, fast, and merciless. Tattoos covered his arms and chest, symbols of battles past and scars earned.
Everyone watching knew what he was capable of. This wasn't his first fight, nor would it be his last. He was feared, admired, and hated in equal measure.
The crowd's cheering swelled, so loud it seemed the walls themselves might tremble. Then a voice sliced through the chaos.
"ENOUGH."
The word wasn't shouted. It was spoken low, almost a whisper, but it carried like thunder. Instantly, the yard fell silent.
Every head turned.
He descended the stairs slowly, step by deliberate step. His black t-shirt clung to a body carved with strength, his hands buried casually in his pockets. Dark hair fell across one eye, half-veiling the piercing silver gaze beneath. His face was dangerously handsome, sharp with a chiseled jaw and cheekbones that made him look sculpted out of stone.
The crowd parted like water before him.
"Last warning," he said, voice cool and measured. "No more fights unless I say so."
No one argued.
With two men flanking him like royal guards, he turned and walked back across the yard. And just like that, the noise returned—pretending nothing had happened, pretending they hadn't all been terrified by the man who ruled this place with a whisper.
Because here, in Levan prison, authority didn't belong to the guards. It belonged to him.
Malric Vasili.
He hadn't been imprisoned as punishment. He had allowed it. For reasons unknown to the outside world, he had walked willingly into this cage, and for nearly a year and a half, he had ruled it like a sovereign over a rusted kingdom.
His cell wasn't like the others. While most were barren, cold, and stinking of sweat and mildew, Malric's was different. Clean sheets were folded with military precision on his bed. A closet stood in the corner, filled with more than the state-issued uniform. A chair, a desk, even books—his space was transformed, marked by subtle luxuries.
He leaned back in his chair, relaxed but alert, as his men entered behind him.
"Boss," one of them said, a scarred man with sharp eyes. "Your grandfather's making a fuss again. He wants you out."
Malric smirked, silver eyes narrowing. "Like hell I'll go anywhere."
"We found a rat. I tried to track him, but his information is locked down. And…" He hesitated, a rare thing for Zarek. "There's a photo of you, boss. Taken at your last meeting with the client."
Malric raised a brow. "And?"
Zarek's jaw tightened. "It's your family. They're moving against you."
"Pathetic," Malric muttered, though his expression gave nothing away.
"The client you met… he wasn't real," Zarek added. "The face was a mask. Whoever's behind it doesn't want to be seen."
"Stop with the riddles," Malric said, voice cold. "Find him. Trap him. End of story."
Nick, the third man, spoke up suddenly. "Boss I found something else. The contracts you've been receiving… the signature matches the letters. Those damned dark-red letters. Should I hack into your family's system, expose them?"
Malric tilted his head slightly, a slow smile tugging at his lips. It wasn't warm, it was sharp, deadly, like the smile of someone who already knew the end of a game no one else realized they were playing.
"No," he said softly. "Let it be."
Zarek and Nick exchanged uneasy glances but obeyed. They left him in silence.
Malric remained seated, staring at the iron bars. His instincts were sharp; whoever was behind the letters wasn't ordinary. Dangerous, yes, but he had no intention of rushing. He would wait. The game of hide-and-seek suited him.
He stood, walked to the bed, and opened a drawer. Inside were dozens of letters—dark red, folded, ominous. He picked one at random.
The ink inside was sharp, written in an elegant but sinister hand:
"You have to fulfill the promise and save all."
At the bottom was a picture of a young girl, smiling innocently. Malric's eyes darkened. Soon, I'll get to the bottom of this.
---
The next day, the sun blazed over Levan, heat shimmering off steel fences and watchtowers. The sound of the gates echoed like the final nail in a coffin as a new inmate was led inside, gripping his plastic bin of state-issued supplies.
Eyes followed him from every corner—calculating, hungry, suspicious. Guards escorted him only as far as the stairs to the upper tiers, then stopped, turning back without a word.
The inmate frowned but kept climbing, his arrogance obvious in the swagger of his steps.
At the top, Zarek and Nick stood waiting. They said nothing, only gestured for him to follow. The man hesitated, then obeyed. Soon, he stood inside Malric's cell.
Malric sat on his bed, book in hand, unreadable as always. His silver eyes lifted, pinning the new arrival in silence. The air grew heavy, tension coiling like a snake ready to strike.
The inmate broke first. Without a word, he reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. Nick snatched it, tearing it open. Two dark-red letters slid free.
He handed them to Malric.
The first read:
"Come out of the prison. The old man is dying."
The second:
"Come out, and you will know who I am."
Malric's face didn't change—until his gaze fell on the seal. Pressed into black-silver wax was a serpent coiled around a crown. His father's seal. Lost the day his father was murdered.
Nick's hands shook as he grabbed the messenger by the collar. "Who sent you?" he thundered.
"I don't know!" the inmate gasped. "I'm just the messenger! All you need to do is follow what it says."
Silence fell.
Malric's silver eyes grew colder than steel. Slowly, a smirk crept across his lips—heartless, sharp, dangerous.
"Alright," he finally said.